THE STRIFE SERIES- KEEMSTAR AND FRIENDS (debut)
by otterpile
Summary: what would happen if, instead of expose videos and endless drama, Keemstar and his friends and enemies were put into a house to sort all of their problems out face to face?


pre style="line-height: 21.3px; white-space: normal; font-family: 'Segoe UI', 'Segoe UI Web Regular', 'Segoe UI Symbol', 'Helvetica Neue', 'BBAlpha Sans', 'S60 Sans', Arial, sans-serif; color: #444444; font-size: 15px;"AN: So this is the beginning of a new series I thought of for fun when bored at home. It basically presents an issue going on in the youtube community, and exaggerates it for the amusement of viewers. It a little bit like big brother plus the hunger games or like a haunted house party kind of meme. The first chapter is just an introduction to the first four characters, but as I continue writing there are going to be a lot more. Its designed to be a funny parody-like thing but this chapter is mostly expository. Keep in mind, the way I write this story is going to reflect my opinions of all of the people in it- if you like someone that I consistently shit on, my fanfiction might not be right for you (if of course it offends you)br /Italic text is the game show host. br /br style="line-height: 21.3px;" /emI started my game show series in about 1925, back when men had codes of honour and disputes were handled through real fights. As time went by, it became harder to keep up with what was "new" and "in" for the relevant trends. Other corporations eagerly integrated new technology in some ploy to keep their businesses afloat. In that, they stayed in the public eye and were conditioned to act in the way that would please an audience rather than complete an objective. My show is not like that./embr style="line-height: 21.3px;" /br style="line-height: 21.3px;" /emThe Strife Series is a very small, unheard of but still prestigious in his own right game show which operates as such: 3-5 people enter a sterile-looking apartment flat and stay with each other for 10 whole days. This might seem like an easy situation for most. However, the game show is called the Strife Series for a reason: the 3-5 people staying in the apartment must hate each other, so much so that staying with each other for 10 days would seem virtually impossible. From this premise the Strife Series takes its roots, and from these roots is the most fantastical set of events I have ever recounted. /embr style="line-height: 21.3px;" /br style="line-height: 21.3px;" /emIn the past, the police have been forced to suspend the game's term upon intravenous attempted murders. This is an accurate example to summarize the nature of these events. The absolute pinnacle of the tension in this game was possibly when a participant actually bashed in another's brain with a kettle, leaving them with severe brain damage. He then went on to start a youtube channel under the name Vegan Gains. As you have noticed, the practice might be considered unethical. The underground concealment this show enjoys is the only thing keeping it alive as far as I can tell./embr style="line-height: 21.3px;" /br style="line-height: 21.3px;" /emThe Strife Series has had a long and eventful past, and as its host, I have great hopes for its future./embr style="line-height: 21.3px;" /br style="line-height: 21.3px;" /***br style="line-height: 21.3px;" /br style="line-height: 21.3px;" /The room flooded with light through the tiny window, making the constipated beam shat through the bent shutter blades with immaculate bowel strength seem so strong that it might burn into the filthy pile of pillows, questionable sex toys, dirty laundry, and rotten food it was concentrated on. This was a stark contrast from the other side of the room, which was impeccable and neatly kept albeit a arrangement of greasy splatters of unknown liquids. Cutting through the sunlit morning air was a disgruntled exclamation of anguish. A head rose above the quilts. The sun lit up his shiny, sizeable style="line-height: 21.3px;" /br style="line-height: 21.3px;" /Ian Carter hauled himself out of bed, adjusting his glasses upon his nose neatly. He slightly ruffled his hair, sifted through a pile of shirts for something wearable, settled on a shirt that read "Please Help Me" (an accurate label considering the state of his fanbase) and walked out the door. Realizing he was late to tackle his tasks for the day, he promptly skipped breakfast (it was noon) and ran to his door. But as he walked out the door, in the corner of his visual range- a golden slip of paper wedged in the hinges of the front door caught his eye. Thinking it was another letter from his Bad Unboxing-Fan Mail series, he haphazardly ripped the envelope open, and unfolded the lace-trimmed slip of paper style="line-height: 21.3px;" /br style="line-height: 21.3px;" /Today, style="line-height: 21.3px;" / 777 Victoire Rd. br style="line-height: 21.3px;" / Dress Formally .br style="line-height: 21.3px;" /br style="line-height: 21.3px;" /He stared at the paper for a couple of minutes, then pocketed it. He had a faint idea of what was going on here, and he decided that being part of it was more worth his time than filming another episode of him unboxing garbage sent by 13 year olds. But he would arm himself with a giant, thick, glossy, elongated CROWBAR for style="line-height: 21.3px;" /br style="line-height: 21.3px;" /-br style="line-height: 21.3px;" /br style="line-height: 21.3px;" /A certain pointed beard-wielding man sat comfortably on a popcorn-covered sofa, switching between channels on cable TV. His beady, sloth-like eyes lingered upon one news channel with contempt for a good seven or eight seconds (enough for a bad twitter video) before switching again. His daughter, who tended to act older and more mature than him, was quietly playing upstairs. Other than the television white noise things were quiet in the Keem style="line-height: 21.3px;" /br style="line-height: 21.3px;" /Grabbing for another kernel of buttery popcorn, Keemstar's fingers grazed the bottom of the cup, as the had done so many time after he satisfied himself of popcorn cravings (and similarly to how he had tickled the buttholes of famous youtube celebrities). But this time it felt different. Confusedly, he stared into the popcorn tub to find- a golden envelope lodged at the bottom. Wiping his buttery, filthy fingers on his shirt to mix in with the rest of his filthy body, he fondled the seal until it snapped open. To himself, he read;br style="line-height: 21.3px;" /br style="line-height: 21.3px;" /Today, style="line-height: 21.3px;" / 777 Victoire Rd. br style="line-height: 21.3px;" / Dress Formally .br style="line-height: 21.3px;" /br style="line-height: 21.3px;" /"Formal" wasn't in his vocabulary, but he pondered the drama he could report on if the news was true. The prospect made him salvinate a little. A drop of spit rolled down his chin like a dew drop on a garden gnome on a crisp spring day. He crumpled up the letter and shoved it in the pocket of his fuckboy bermuda shorts. A smile crept upon his face making his elvish pointed beard look more devious than style="line-height: 21.3px;" /br style="line-height: 21.3px;" /***br style="line-height: 21.3px;" /br style="line-height: 21.3px;" /The whole floor was dark. The rooms were mostly empty save for strewn equipment all over the place, littering the eerie hallways. Suddenly, the alarm went off, and the door swang open- a man who looked no older than 14 burst in and shut down the alarm. He threw his suitcase across the room and sank into the nearest couch, exasperatedly. Then he nervously twitched and checked his phone every 30 seconds, trying hard to put on an apathetic face for no one. This had been a heavy week. br style="line-height: 21.3px;" /br style="line-height: 21.3px;" /Making sure to ignore the females that he had lead to believe had a chance with him, he scrolled through the feed of his twitter to be met with dozens of #nochin comments. br style="line-height: 21.3px;" /br style="line-height: 21.3px;" /Calvin Vail shut his phone off with vigour, in attempt to cut off his temptations to check his twitter constantly. He took a deep breath and dragged himself to the bathroom to wash his face. A circular cosmetic mirror concealed the bottom half of his face entirely. Sighing, he moved it aside and flipped it to face him- expecting the reflection of his source of insecurity, he was instead met with a golden style="line-height: 21.3px;" /br style="line-height: 21.3px;" /***br style="line-height: 21.3px;" /br style="line-height: 21.3px;" /The garage was dimly lit by dingy lightbulbs. Dented tools scattered the floor. A sad, small person quietly ate an ugly vegetarian salad, surrounded by what appeared to be the remnants of a catastrophe. Red blood-like puddles covered the garage floor, with many footsteps covering the ground. Nailed up photos of men in heavy emo makeup were posted everywhere in the walls of the garage, rippled and tattered with the weight of saliva being applied daily. br style="line-height: 21.3px;" /br style="line-height: 21.3px;" /Greg or Onision had just finished catering political nonsense to 14 year olds on the internet. His rich coloured dark hair fell and framed his porcelain face like a dripping slop of shitwater dripping down the side of the toilet. His eyebrows were trying to fight each other, giving him a scrunched up angry expression similar to that of an atrophied asshole. br style="line-height: 21.3px;" /br style="line-height: 21.3px;" /Once he was done eating the foul looking mixture of greens he walked up to his expensive Tesla that he had totally bought using the revenue he received from being a complete idiot on youtube. Something caught his eye- a glint of gold wedged in the steering wheel. He opened the already crusty handle of the car door to get a closer look; and to his surprise it was envelope!br /br /AN: this was more of a sample of my writing style. i hope you at least enjoyed that. but welcome to the strife series- its about to get crazy./pre 


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